3511 
F4-794H 


LI 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

David  Freedroan 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

By 
PARKER  F1LLMORE 

Illustrations  by 
ROSE   CECIL  O'NEILL 


NEW  YORK 
HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
The  Ridgway  Company 

Copyright.  1910,  by 
John  Lane  Company 


fS 


TO    MARTHA 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  I  don't  care  what  she  says  !  I'm  going!  " 13 

"  Dare  you  to  come  in  swimmin'  !  Dare 

you  to  come  in  swimmin'!  " 25 

Eddie  Grote  was  in  a  tight  place 37 

"  Margery  Blair,  you  come  right  out  of 

that  pond  !  " 41 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

Mother,  may  I  go  out  to  swim  ? 

Yes,  my  darling  daughter; 
Hang  your  clothes  on  a  hickory  limb, 

And  don't  go  near  the  water. 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

GLADYS  BAILEY  had  a  parasol 
in  one  hand  and  a  card-case  in 
the  other.  From  her  own  wide 
experience  in  social  usage,  she  was 
going  to  initiate  the  twins  into  the  mys 
tery  of  formal  calls.  She  had  told  them 
earlier  in  the  day  that  they  might  bring 
their  younger  sister,  but  later  reflection 
decided  her  to  withdraw  this  permission. 
As  Katherine  and  Alice  were  ready  first, 
it  was  easy  to  explain  to  them  her  reasons. 

"Four,"  Gladys  said,  "are  too  many 
to  go  calling.  Margery's  too  little  for 
our  crowd  anyway,  and,  besides,  that 
would  make  three  from  one  family.  We 
had  just  better  start  before  she  comes 
down." 

For  a  moment  the  twins  looked  doubt 
ful;  then,  as  usual,  agreed.  Thereupon, 

nil 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

all  three  cautiously  tiptoed  off  the  porch 
and  down  the  lawn.  Before  they  reached 
the  street,  Margery  was  after  them, 
calling:  "Wait  a  minute,  Katherine! 
Wait,  Alice!" 

The  twins  had  barely  time  to  slip 
through  the  gate  and  hear  Gladys's  low 
injunction,  "Don't  let  her  come,"  when 
Margery  was  upon  them. 

'You  can't  come  with  us,  Margery," 
Katherine  began,  with  an  assumption  of 
innocence. 

"Why,  Katherine,  you  promised  I 
could." 

'That  was  for  to-morrow,"  suggested 
Alice  weakly. 

Margery  looked  from  her  sisters  to 
Gladys,  who  was  staring  vaguely  across 
the  street.  Her  excessive  aloofness  was 
suspicious,  and  Margery  instantly  jumped 
to  conclusions. 

"  I  bet  I  know  what's  the  matter.    That 
old  Gladys  Bailey  doesn't  want  me.     But 
[12] 


>, 

$ 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

I'm  going  anyhow!  I  don't  care  what 
she  says!  I'm  going!" 

And,  throwing  herself  against  the  gate, 
Margery  pushed  and  kicked  and  shook, 
while  Katherine  and  Alice,  holding  it 
shut  from  the  outside,  blushed  with 
embarrassment  that  Gladys  should  hear, 
and  whispered  fiercely,  "  Margery,  keep 
still!" 

But  Margery  would  not  keep  still.  At 
that  moment  she  was  remembering 
against  Gladys  many  a  former  indignity. 
How  she  hated  her — how  she  had  always 
hated  her  for  her  prim,  deceitful,  grown 
up  manners,  for  her  patronizing  airs, 
and,  most  of  all,  for  the  strange  influence 
she  wielded  over  Margery's  own  sisters 
and  brother.  It  was  bad  enough  that 
the  twins  should  hang  upon  her  words, 
but  worse,  far  worse,  that  even  Henry, 
that  model  of  discretion,  should  be  so 
completely  taken  in  as  to  look  upon 
Gladys  with  an  interest  which  bordered 
[15] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

dangerously  near  to  admiration.  Secure 
in  the  esteem  of  Katherine  and  Alice, 
and  conscious  of  her  sway  over  Henry, 
Gladys  saw  no  reason  to  conciliate  the 
youngest  member  of  the  family.  "Mar 
gery's  too  little  for  our  crowd,"  she  would 
say,  and,  while  Margery  fumed  and 
fought,  would  calmly  reiterate  the  state 
ment  until  it  came  to  be  accepted  as 
fact.  Gladys  never  fought.  As  on  this 
afternoon,  she  was  always  the  general, 
who,  so  to  speak,  directed  from  afar  the 
onslaughts  of  the  actual  combatants. 

Though  outnumbered  two  to  one,  Mar 
gery  had  the  spirit  of  a  host,  and  for  a 
while  victory  hung  doubtful.  Then  fate 
decided  the  issue,  and,  in  guise  of  the 
maternal  voice  from  the  window,  called 
Margery  off. 

"Margery    Blair,"     the    voice    com 
manded,   "stop  that  noise  this  instant! 
Aren't  you   ashamed  to  tease  the  girls 
so?     Stop  it!     Do  you  hear  me ?" 
[16] 


Yes,  Margery  heard;  and,  knowing 
from  experience  the  futility  of  argument, 
she  stopped. 

"Are  we  ready?"  Gladys  Bailey  asked, 
suddenly  awakening,  as  it  were,  from  a 
reverie.  The  twins,  a  little  heated  from 
their  exertions,  were  quite  ready,  and, 
holding  their  card-cases — envelopes  filled 
with  cards  of  home  manufacture — in 
young-ladyish  fashion,  they  started  off, 
copying,  as  best  they  could,  the  mincing 
steps  of  Gladys. 

If  Margery  shouted  after  them  no 
parting  taunt,  it  was  not  because  she  had 
none  ready.  The  ear  corresponding  to 
the  maternal  voice  was  probably  still 
at  the  window;  and  Margery,  though 
desperate  enough  for  any  fate  sufficiently 
tragic,  disliked  the  thought  of  spending 
the  afternoon  in  bed.  Therefore  she 
kept  an  outward  silence.  But  her  heart 
would  not  be  still,  and  every  little  out 
raged  feeling  in  her  body,  finding  a 
2  [17] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

voice  of  its  own,  clamored  aloud:  "Oh, 
if  we  could  only  pay  'em  back!  Oh,  if 
we  could  only  pay  'em  back!  "  Margery, 
alas!  had  not  yet  learned  that  forgive 
ness  is  sweeter  than  revenge.  Of  course 
she  would  forgive  them  if,  say,  a  milk- 
wagon  should  run  over  her  and  she  had 
only  a  few  hours  to  live.  Then  how 
they  would  cry!  But  as  it  was  too  late 
in  the  afternoon  for  any  milk-wagons  to 
be  about,  such  a  death-bed  forgiveness 
was  clearly  out  of  the  question.  So  the 
one  thing  left  was  revenge. 

Yet  what  revenge  was  possible  ?  None, 
absolutely  none.  That  afternoon  she 
was  utterly  powerless  to  shake  by  any 
act  of  hers  the  equanimity  of  those  three 
complacent  young  persons.  There  was 
nothing  belonging  to  them  which  she 
could  smash,  hide,  or  appropriate.  There 
was  nothing  they  had  ever  said  or  done 
which  now,  in  her  hour  of  need,  she 
could  use  against  them.  They  were  in 
[18] 


THE   HICKORY   LIMB 

fact  so  impossibly,  so  hopelessly — no, 
not  exactly  virtuous,  but  proper,  that 
the  mere  contemplation  of  their  colorless 
lives  threw  Margery  into  a  most  de 
plorable  state  of  hatred,  malice,  and  all 
uncharitableness. 

As  the  hopelessness  of  revenge  settled 
on  Margery's  spirit,  a  feeling  of  loneliness 
began  to  creep  over  her.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  to  do,  and  of  nobody  to 
whom  she  might  appeal  for  sympathy  or 
amusement.  The  limitless  expanse  of  an 
idle  afternoon  stretched  out  before  her 
like  a  desert.  Henry  had  gone  fishing, 
and  Willie  Jones — Willie  Jones!  With 
that  name  came  a  dazzling  thought,  a  plan 
full-blown,  a  balm  sweet  to  her  soul,  a 
glorious  solution! 

Margery  skipped  up  to  the  porch  and 
called  out  in  a  coaxing,  pleasant  tone: 
"Mamma,  may  I  take  a  little  walk?" 
The  maternal  voice,  plainly  relieved  that 
the  storm  had  spent  itself,  gave  consent, 
[19] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

and  Margery  danced  out  the  front  gate 
and  up  the  street,  her  heart  thumping 
fast  in  exultation. 

O-oh!  Let  Katherine  and  Alice  dis 
tribute  as  many  of  their  calling-cards 
as  possible,  for  soon  they  will  have  no 
further  use  for  them.  Soon — to  be  ex 
act,  by  the  time  they  get  home — they 
will  be  disgraced,  horribly  disgraced, 
and  no  one  will  ever  care  to  receive  them 
or  their  visits  again.  Even  Gladys,  their 
adored  Gladys,  will  give  them  one  cold 
glance  of  scorn  and  turn  her  back.  It 
was  hard,  certainly,  not  to  be  able  to 
include  Gladys  in  the  impending  doom. 
But,  after  all,  Katherine  and  Alice  were 
the  more  culpable,  for  had  they  not  cast 
aside  all  feelings  of  sisterly  relationship  ? 
Let  them,  then,  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
punishment. 

After  a  fashion  Margery  was  grateful 
to  Gladys,  for  it  was  really  Gladys  who 
had  placed  in  her  hands  the  weapon  she 
[20] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

was  about  to  use.  Gladys  was  forever 
saying  to  Katherine  and  Alice:  "If 
you're  not  careful,  Margery  will  dis 
grace  you  all  some  day.  Then  how 
will  you  feel?  No  one  will  play  with 
you;  no  one  will  even  speak  to  you  on 
the  street.  And  it  won't  be  your  fault, 
either.  But,  you  see,  everybody'll  know 
Margery  is  your  sister." 

Yes,  every  one  would  know,  and  Mar 
gery,  as  she  skipped  along,  gloated  in 
the  thought.  It  went  without  saying 
that,  in  disgracing  the  others,  Margery 
was  willing  to  sacrifice  herself.  Willing  ? 
She  was  almost  too  willing.  In  fact, 
it  must  be  confessed  that  there  was 
something  in  the  present  undertaking 
which,  quite  apart  from  all  anticipations 
of  revenge,  hummed  a  gay  little  tune  in 
her  ear,  and  tempted  her  hurrying  feet 
into  many  a  frisky  little  side-step.  From 
time  to  time  she  had  to  nudge  herself, 
as  it  were,  to  remember  that  her  purpose 
[21] 


THE   HICKORY   LIMB 

was  one  of  retributive  justice,  that  the 
end  was  what  her  soul  hungered  after 
—not  the  means. 

She  gave  a  passing  regret  to  the  after 
noon  shoes  she  was  wearing,  the  white 
stockings,  the  clean  dress,  the  great  pink 
bow  of  ribbon  in  her  hair.  Likely 
enough  these  would  be  sadly  draggled 
before  the  deed  was  done.  But  even 
that  thought  did  not  check  her  haste 
nor  cause  her  for  one  second  to  pause 
or  look  back. 


HER  ROAD  lay  toward  the  open 
country.  At  last,  leaving  be 
hind  all  lines  of  houses,  she 
crawled  under  a  barbed-wire  fence  into 
a  broad  meadow  where  a  few  cows  were 
grazing;  then  over  a  creek  into  another 
meadow,  and  up  to  a  grassy  knoll  just 
ahead.  From  beyond  it  faint  shouts 
were  coming.  At  the  foot  of  the  knoll 
Margery  rested  a  few  moments,  then 
pushed  bravely  on  to  the  very  gate  of 
her  adventure. 

From  the  top  of  the  knoll  she  looked 
down  the  other  side  to  a  tiny  pond  where 
five  little  boys  were  playing  and  splash 
ing.  The  minute  they  spied  Margery 
they  sank  to  their  chins  in  the  muddy 
water  and  raised  frantic  hands  and 
voices : 

"Go  'way  from  here!  Go  'way  from 
here!  We're  swimminM  We're  swim- 
min'!" 

[23] 


With  considerable  inward  trepidation 
but  outward  calm,  Margery  descended 
toward  them. 

"  We're  swimmin' !  We're  swimmin' ! " 
the  little  boys  kept  on  shouting  inanely 
until  Margery  was  forced  to  make  some 
acknowledgment  of  the  information. 

"  Oh!  "  she  called  out  in  sarcasm  undis 
guised,  "I  thought  you  was  flying!  " 

That  seemed  to  make  the  little  boys 
angry.  They  redoubled  their  cries  and 
gesticulations. 

"Go  'way  from  here!  Go  'way  from 
here!  You're  a  girl!  You're  a  girl!" 

"Is  that  so?  I'm  a  girl,  am  I?  I'm 
so  glad  to  hear  it!  " 

Margery  sat  down  near  the  water's 
edge  and  gazed  across  defiantly  at  the 
little  boys,  who  were  clustered  together 
at  the  far  end  of  the  pond.  They  were 
not  her  match  at  sarcasm  and  so  were 
forced  to  answer  with  inarticulate  jeers. 
For  a  few  seconds  no  more  words  were 
[24] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

exchanged.     Then   one   of  the  boys  at 
tempted  a  parley. 

"  Margery,"  he  began.  It  was  Willie 
Jones.  There  was  a  plea  and  a  protest 
in  his  voice. 

"Well?" 

Margery's  sharp  interrogation  gave  so 
little  encouragement  that  Willie  Jones 
desisted. 

Freddy  Larkin  next  essayed  the  part 
of  spokesman  for  the  boys.  Freddy  had 
curly  hair  and  a  lisp. 

"Mardthery!" 

"Well?" 

"Dare  you  to  come  in  thwimmin'! 
Dare  you  to  come  in  thwim— 

Willie  Jones  choked  further  utterance 
with  a  splash  of  water.  But,  though  he 
silenced  Freddy,  the  other  three  instantly 
took  up  the  cry,  "Dare  you  to  come  in 
swimmin'!  Dare  you  to  come  in  swim- 
min'!" 

Margery's  moment  had  come. 
[27] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

"Huh!  You  think  I'm  afraid,  don't 
you?  Well,  I  ain't!" 

She  pulled  off  her  shoes,  rolled  down 
her  white  stockings,  and  then,  standing 
up,  very  deliberately  began  unbuttoning 
the  back  of  her  dress. 

For  the  boys  this  was  a  turn  of  events 
unexpected  and  most  disconcerting.  Not 
for  a  moment  did  they  really  want  her 
to  accept  their  dare.  Why,  whoever 
heard  of  a  girl  doing  such  a  thing  ?  The 
very  thought  scandalized  them  deeply. 
Indeed,  they  would  stop  her  if  they  could, 
but  it  was  utterly  beyond  their  powers 
of  expression  to  tell  her  that  the  dare 
was  a  mere  joke,  a  pleasantry  that  had 
better  be  forgotten.  Unable  to  explain 
this,  they  wriggled  about  uncomfortably 
in  the  water  and  hid  their  growing  con 
fusion  in  half-hearted  jeers. 

When  the  dress  was  discarded,  every 
little  boy  there  hoped  in  his  soul  that  this 
might  be  all.  The  proprieties  would  not 
[28] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

be  utterly  demolished  if  Margery  would 
only  treat  as  a  bathing-suit  her  skimp 
little  undervest  and  bloomers.  But  Mar 
gery  would  not.  She  calmly  proceeded 
to  undo  the  buttons  which  made  these 
two  garments  one. 

"Margery!"  There  was  an  almost 
agonized  pleading  in  Willie  Jones's 
voice. 

"Willie  Jones,  will  you  shut  up!  Just 
because  you  live  near  us  you  needn't 
think  you're  my  brother.  'Cause  you 
ain't.  Besides,  girls  can  do  the  same 
as  boys." 

There  was  a  last  tug;  those  final  gar 
ments  which  might  have  served  as  a 
bathing-suit  slipped  down  over  her  feet, 
and  Margery  stepped  forth,  a  skinny, 
defiant  little  Venus,  challenging  the  world 
to  look  if  it  dare.  It  was  a  most  embar 
rassing  moment  for  the  little  boys.  Their 
faces,  bobbing  about  nervously  on  the 
surface  of  the  water,  blushed  violently, 
[29] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 


and  their  jeers  dwindled  down  to  the 
merest  quavers. 

Her  independence  of  custom  and  opin 
ion  thus  emphatically  established,  Mar 
gery  lost  no  time  in  entering  the  \vater. 
Sitting  gingerly  on  the  muddy  bank,  she 
slid  forward  one  foot,  then  the  other. 
Ugh!  The  bottom  of  the  pond  was  soft 
and  slimy,  and  squashed  up  between 
her  toes  like  worms.  For  the  first  time 
a  dreadful  misgiving  came  over  her. 
What  if,  after  all,  swimming  were  not 
the  delightful  pastime  it  wras  cracked 
up  to  be!  However,  there  was  no  turn 
ing  back  now. 

Sitting  in  the  water,  she  propelled 
herself  forward  with  her  hands,  slowly 
and  cautiously.  The  little  boys  looked 
on  in  marked  though  unexpressed  dis 
approval.  Margery  was  putting  them 
into  a  horribly  awkward  position — there 
was  no  doubt  about  that.  They  didn't 
like  it,  either.  But  in  spite  of  themselves 
[30] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

they  were  beginning  to  feel  a  certain 
admiration  for  her  pluck.  It  was  almost 
a  pity  she  was  a  girl. 


"  Look  out,  Margery ! "  It  was  Tommy 
Grayson  who  gave  the  friendly  warning. 
'They's  a  tin  can  over  there." 

Margery  shifted  her  direction,  and 
soon  reached  deeper  water,  where  she 
was  able  to  stand  up  without  shocking 
the  sensibilities  of  any  one.  The  little 
boys  wrere  still  some  distance  from  her. 
The  water,  muddy  beyond  all  chance  of 
transparency,  came  up  to  their  chests. 
To  them,  however,  this  was  not  enough. 
The  excessive  modesty  of  eight  or  nine 
made  them  keep  even  the  white  of  their 
angular  little  shoulders  primly  covered. 

Now,  human  nature  can  not  be  expected 
to  retain  forever  that  freshness  of  sur 
prise  which  it  feels  over  every  new  experi- 
[31] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

ence  in  life.  Time,  philosophy  tells  us, 
accustoms  man  to  almost  anything.  It 
does  the  same  for  small  boys.  Beyond 
question  it  was  enough  to  take  the  wind 
out  of  any  one  to  see  a  girl  coolly  strip 
and  come  in  swimming  quite  as  though 
she  were  a  boy,  with  all  a  boy's  peculiar 
rights  and  privileges.  But,  astonishing  as 
that  might  be,  it  was  after  all  no  reason 
for  standing  there  all  day  like  sticks  in 
the  mud  when  you  might  just  as  well  be 
having  a  good  time. 

Margery,  who  was  also  standing  like 
a  stick,  felt  as  bored  as  they.  With 
nothing  to  do  but  gently  bounce  with  the 
slight  lap-lap  of  the  water,  she  found 
herself  wondering  more  and  more  just 
where  the  fun  of  swimming  came  in. 

She  watched  with  envy  the  small 
beginnings  that  betokened  in  the  boys  a 
return  to  the  serious  play  of  life.  Char 
ley  Burns  gave  Freddy  Larkin  an  unex 
pected  ducking.  Freddy  came  up  splut- 
[32] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

tering  and  blowing,  but  with  a  handful 
of  slimy  mud  which  he  plastered  over 
Charley's  white  head.  Then  a  splash 
fight  became  general.  Every  one 
splashed  water  into  every  one  else's 
face.  Margery  noted  with  interest  the 
peculiar  downward  stroke  of  the  flat 
hand  which  brought  about  the  finest 
results.  She  added  her  shouts  to  the 
boys',  and  longed  to  add  some  splashes 
likewise. 

Now,  the  progress  of  a  splash  fight  is 
thus:  At  first  there  are  no  sides — every 
man's  splash  is  against  every  man's;  but 
the  splashes  of  all  turn  immediately 
against  him  who  shows  first  signs  of 
defeat;  and  he,  the  victim,  may  then 
use  any  means  whatever  to  protect 
himself. 

Eddie  Grote  was  the  victim  this  time. 

When   the   deluge   became   choking,   he 

turned  his  back,  ducked,  and  then  let 

fly  in  the  general  direction  of  the  allied 

3  [33] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

forces  two  slimy  handfuls  of  mud.  In 
the  excitement  of  the  game  the  boys 
had  clean  forgot  the  immodesty  of  bare 
shoulders,  and  had  even  broken  away 
from  their  original  close  grouping  until, 
to  all  appearances,  Margery  was  one  of 
them.  So  it  happened  that,  when  Freddy 
Larkin  dodged  aside,  one  handful  of  the 
watery  mud  caught  Margery  square  on 
the  head  and  splattered  down  over  her 
face  and  ears. 

"  Aw,  see  what  you  done,  Eddie  Grote ! " 
Tommy  Grayson  shouted  indignantly. 
"You  went  and  thro  wed  mud  on  Mar 
gery's  hair  ribbon!  Ain't  you  got  no 
sense  ?  " 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  four  little 
boys  reviled  the  fifth  with  various  forms 
of,  "Aw,  what'd  you  do  that  for?  "  And 
the  fifth  stood  still  in  awkward  consterna 
tion,  the  mud  still  dripping  from  his 
guilty  hand. 

For  a  moment  Margery,  toe,  was  con- 
[34] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

cerned,  but  only  for  a  moment.  When, 
under  any  circumstances,  one's  world  is 
coming  to  an  end  within  a  few  hours  at 
furthest,  a  hair  ribbon  more  or  less 
matters  very  little.  Moreover,  it  sud 
denly  flashed  upon  Margery  that  here 
was  a  chance  to  make  those  few  remain 
ing  hours  more  golden  and  at  the  same 
time  gratify  her  soul  with  a  trial  at  that 
masterly  downward  stroke  of  the  flat 
hand.  So  before  Eddie  Grote  had  time 
to  close  his  astonished  mouth,  she  filled 
it  with  a  mighty  splash  of  water.  Then, 
while  Eddie  choked  and  spluttered,  too 
surprised  to  defend  himself,  she  sent 
another  wTell-aimed  splash  and  another, 
until  the  gasping  Eddie  was  forced  to 
turn  and  flee.  Not  even  then  did  Mar 
gery  stop,  but,  following  up  her  advan 
tage,  she  drove  him  on  and  on  toward 
shore. 

In  their  ecstasy  at  the  spectacle,  the 
remaining  boys  leaped  up  and  down  in 
[35] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

the  water  like  happy  little  trout,  clapping 
their  hands  and  shouting: 

"Hurrah  for  Margery! " 

"Give  it  to  him,  Margery!" 

"I  bet  on  Margery! " 

"What's  the  matter  with  Margery?" 

Eddie  Grote  was  in  a  tight  place.  All 
woman's  rights  to  the  contrary,  in  a 
struggle  of  the  sexes  a  man  has  to  show 
ths  woman  some  consideration  or  fly  in 
the  face  of  public  opinion.  Eddie  Grote, 
although  hard  pressed,  realized  that  pub 
lic  opinion  would  not  in  this  instance 
stand  for  what,  ordinarily,  would  be  his 
modus  operandi^  namely,  to  fling  mud 
over  his  shoulder.  If  he  could  but  gain 
a  moment's  time  thus,  he  might  make 
a  dash  for  the  deeper  water.  But  he 
could  not,  and  the  other  little  boys,  as 
they  saw  his  growing  predicament,  raised 
shriller,  louder  shouts  of  joy : 

"That's  right,  Margery!     Chase  him 
out  of  the  water!     Chase  him  out!  " 
[36] 


", 


O 

4> 

i 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

"  Oh,  Eddie  Grote,  ain't  you  ashamed  ? 
And  before  a  girl,  too!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

Eddie  Grote  was  ashamed,  horribly 
ashamed.  The  water  was  fast  falling 
below  his  knees.  To  get  back  to  the 
depths  was  impossible;  to  go  straight 
ahead  were  greater  shame.  Facing  the 
inevitable,  and  clutching  frantically  at 
the  flying  skirts  of  modesty,  he  doubled 
up  like  a  little  turtle,  chin  to  knees,  and 
cried  quits  in  those  last  words  of  the 
conquered:  "I  give  up  !  I  give  up! " 

Margery,  who  knew  the  practicee  of 
modern  warfare  quite  as  well  as  he, 
ceased  fire  and  slowly  backed  away. 
She  backed  amid  a  chorus  that  was  like 
a  triumphant  "See  the  Conquering  Hero 
Comes."  Freddy  Larkin  called  out, 
"What's  the  matheh  with  Mardthery?" 
and  the  others  took  up  the  chant: 

She's  all  right! 

Who's  all  right  ? 

MARGERY  ! 

[39] 


A[,  WHAT  fun  swimming  was! 
Did  anything  else  under  heaven 
equal  it?  Come,  now,  what 
might,  she  had  drunk  deep  of  one  of 
life's  joys,  and  the  memory  of  it  would 
long  sustain  her.  And  then,  while  the 
boys  were  still  shouting  her  victory,  while 
her  heart  was  still  glowing  with  the 
thought  of  having  made  good  before 
them,  it  came — a  voice  that  was  like  the 
voice  of  judgment. 

"Margery!"  it  trumpeted  sharply. 
"  Margery!  " 

And  at  that  voice  five  little  Adams 
were  suddenly  afraid,  and,  remembering 
the  nakedness  of  their  shoulders,  hid 
themselves  as  best  they  could  in  the 
muddy  depths,  and  the  solitary  little 
Eve  covered  herself  likewise  until  the 
waters  were  up  to  her  chin.  Then  six 
little  floating  heads  turned  and  gazed  in 
speechless  dismay  at  the  knoll.  There 
[40] 


stood  Henry.  In  one  hand  he  was 
clutching  a  tin  can  full  of  something; 
from  the  other  he  had  dropped  a 
seine. 

"Margery!"  he  repeated  as  though 
scarce  able  to  believe  his  eyes.  Then 
as  the  vision  remained  fixed,  he  changed 
his  tone. 

"Margery  Blair,  you  come  right  out 
of  that  pond!" 

All  the  outraged  conventionalities  of 
an  elder  brother  sounded  in  his  voice  and 
showed  in  the  horrified  expression  of  his 
face. 

Margery  did  not  question  fate,  but 
meekly  obeyed.  Slowly  and  reluctantly 
she  made  her  way  to  shore.  Henry 
was  at  the  water's  edge  to  hasten  her 
landing.  He  reached  out  and  dragged 
her  in — no  longer  a  defiant  young  Venus, 
but  a  very  frightened  little  girl  whose 
naughtiness  had  found  her  out.  Henry 
pushed  her  roughly  toward  her  pile  of 
[43] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

clothes  with  the  succinct  order,  "Now 
dress."  He  made  a  screen  of  his  body 
between  her  and  the  five  pairs  of  eyes 
that  were  bobbing  about  so  exasperatingly 
on  the  water. 

Behind  the  screen  Margery  shivered 
helplessly.  "Ain't  got  nothin'  to  wipe 
with,"  she  sniffled. 

Very  carefully  and  deliberately,  with 
out  exposing  for  an  instant  the  form  of 
his  frail  sister,  Henry  deposited  on  the 
ground  his  tin  can  of  minnows,  went 
through  all  his  pockets,  and  finally  pulled 
out  a  small,  dirty  handkerchief.  As  he 
handed  this  over  his  shoulder,  the  little 
boys  in  the  water  laughed. 

"Say,  Henry,  will  you  lend  me  that 
towel  when  Margery's  through  with  it?" 
asked  Charley  Burns  facetiously. 

"I'll  punch  your  head  when  I  ketch 
you.  That's  what  I'll  do  to  you." 

Charley  did  not  continue  the  subject. 

Presumably  the  handkerchief  served  its 
[44] 


purpose,  for  Margery's  next  words  showed 
that  dressing  had  progressed  a  bit. 

"I  can't  get  my  stockin's  on,"  she 
quavered. 

"Pull  'em  on,"  grunted  the  screen 
unfeelingly. 

A  few  moments  later  there  was  similar 
trouble  with  the  shoes,  and  Margery 
sent  out  a  tearful  announcement: 

;'They  just  won't  go  on." 

"They  got  to,"  remarked  the  screen 
firmly. 

"But  I  tell  you  they  won't.  They're 
my  new  ones  and  they  won't  go  on  without 
a  shoe-horn." 

"Stamp  on  'em !"  commanded  Henry 
gruffly. 

Behind  the  screen  convulsive  excite 
ment  followed,  accompanied  by  a  certain 
Jack-in-the-box  effect  which  seemed 
highly  to  amuse  the  little  boys  in  the 
water. 

"That's  right,  Margery.  Stamp  on 
[45] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

'em!  "  they  repeated  derisively  until  cowed 
into  silence  by  Henry's  stony  stare. 

"I  can't  button  my  dress,"  was  Mar 
gery's  final  plaint. 

"You  got  to." 

"But  I  tell  you  I  can't,"  she  insisted, 
her  voice  rising  to  a  long-drawn  wail. 
"It  buttons  behind." 

With  the  utmost  dignity  the  screen 
slowly  turned  itself  around.  That  was 
a  signal  for  the  small  boys  in  the  water 
to  break  forth  into  jeers  and  taunts. 
They  spoke  in  that  treble  squeal  which 
little  boys  use  when  they  seek  to  imitate 
girls'  voices. 

"Say,  Henry,  please  lend  me  your 
towel  to  wipe  my  ears." 

"Button  my  dress,  Henry." 

"Where's  your  shoe-horn,  Henry?" 

Apparently    Henry's    calm    remained 

unshaken.     In  reality  he  made  a  rather 

poor  job  of  the  buttoning.     As  soon  as 

the  back  of  the  dress  promised  to  hold 

[461 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

together,  he  stopped.  Then,  firmly 
clutching  Margery's  arm  in  one  hand 
and  holding  his  seine  and  tin  can  of 
minnows  in  the  other,  he  faced  his  wasp 
ish  little  tormentors. 


[47] 


THE  MOMENT  had  come  for  him 
to  speak.  He  did  not  hesitate. 
Had  he  been  forty-five  and  bald, 
he  could  not  have  met  the  situation  with 
more  determined  conventionality.  He 
realized,  plainly  enough,  that  the  family 
had  been  disgraced,  and  neither  to  her 
self  nor  to  the  world  would  he  minimize 
or  excuse  Margery's  culpability.  Yet, 
nevertheless,  he  would  do  his  best  to 
hush  up  the  scandal. 

"See  here,  you  kids,"  he  began  warn- 
ingly.  Both  hands  were  occupied,  so  he 
could  not  emphasize  his  threat  with  the 
sight  of  a  clenched  fist.  His  tones,  how 
ever,  carried  conviction.  "If  any  of 
you's  blab  about  this,  I'll  give  you  such 
a  smashin'- 

Henry    did    not    finish    the    sentence. 
There  was  no  need  to  finish  the  sentence. 
When    one's    thought    has    been    fully 
enough  expressed,  why  go  on  further? 
[48] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

Henry  paused  a  moment  for  the  mean 
ing  to  sink  in.  Then  he  started  up  the 
knoll,  dragging  Margery  after  him.  In 
stantly  the  pond  was  in  an  uproar. 

"Oh,  Henry,  can't  guess  who  I  seen 
in  swimmin'  this  afternoon!" 

"Comin'  back  to-morrow,  ain't  you, 
Margery  ?  " 

"Better  slow  up,  Henry,  or  you'll  drop 
your  minnies." 

"  Say,  Margery,  your  stockin's  is  comin' 
down." 

Then  Freddy  Larkin  started  to  chant 
at  the  top  of  his  lungs : 

Motheh,  may  I  go  out  to  thwim? 

Yeth,  my  darlin'  daughter; 
Hang  your  cloth'     .     .     . 

Of  course  Margery  knew  that  their  wit 
was  aimed  at  Henry,  not  at  her.  But 
she  breathed  freer,  nevertheless,  once  out 
of  ear-shot. 

Henry  dragged  her  homeward  at  a 
4  [49] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

furious  pace.  He  held  her  arm  so  tightly 
that  it  ached.  The  worst  was  that  she 
couldn't  make  him  argue  about  it.  He 
simply  held  on  without  talking. 

'You  just  let  my  arm  go,  Henry  Blair," 
she  whimpered  again  and  again.  ;<You 
ain't  got  any  right  to  hurt  me." 

But  Henry  would  only  close  his  mouth 
more  grimly  and  push  on. 

"  Ain't  you  got  any  sense,  Henry  Blair  ? 
I  ain't  tryin'  to  run  off." 

She  might  just  as  well  be  talking  to 
a  post. 

Even  the  threat,  "If  you  don't  let  me 
go,  I'll  holler,"  fell  on  deaf  ears. 

This  was  said  after  they  had  reached 
the  civilization  of  streets  and  houses, 
wrhere  their  appearance  caused  a  mild 
sensation.  And  small  wonder.  Mar 
gery's  stockings  wrere  down  in  rolls  about 
her  ankles.  Behind,  her  dress  was  gaping 
open  where  Henry  had  missed  the  buttons. 
In  places  there  were  yellow  stains  where 
[50] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

the  wet  of  her  body  had  soaked  through. 
Her  face  was  streaked  with  mud  and 
her  hair  was  drying  in  a  stiff  mat  that 
hung  down  heavily  over  her  eyes.  The 
once  gorgeous  hair  ribbon  was  little 
better  than  a  lump  of  mud. 

Several  little  girls  on  different  porches 
called  out  in  amazed  curiosity,  "Why, 
Margery,  what  is  the  matter?  "  and  a 
boy  or  two,  staring  hard,  remarked, 
"  Hello,  Henry.  What  you  doin '  ?  "  For 
all  the  attention  he  paid,  Henry  might 
not  have  heard.  With  lips  tightly  closed, 
eyes  looking  straight  ahead,  he  rushed 
on,  never  once  relaxing  hold  of  his  mis 
erable  victim's  arm. 

At  their  own  gate  they  met  the  twins 
and  Gladys  Bailey  just  returning  from 
their  round  of  calls.  One  look  at  the 
strange  pair,  and  even  Gladys  lost 
her  air  of  blase  indifference.  Her  eyes 
opened  wide  and  she  took  a  deep  breath 
of  interest  and  surprise. 
[51] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

"Why,  Henry,"  she  said,  "what  in  the 
world  has  Margery  gone  and  done  now  ?  " 

What  has  Margery  gone  and  done  now  ? 
If  that  wasn't  like  Gladys,  before  she  knew 
a  thing  about  it  to  decide  that  Margery 
had  gone  and  done  something !  And 
when  it  was  Gladys  herself  who  was  the 
cause  of  it  all,  anyhow!  Remembering 
this,  Margery  turned  on  her  and  snarled 
like  some  angry  little  animal. 

At  this  fresh  token  of  savagery  in  his 
younger  sister,  Henry's  face  grew  quite 
apoplectic  with  shame.  But,  still  keep 
ing  his  mouth  closed,  he  pushed  by 
Gladys  and  the  twins,  and  dragged  Mar 
gery  up  the  steps  of  the  front  porch. 

"Oh,  look  at  Margery's  hair!  "  Gladys 
called  out  in  virtuous  concern.  "What 
has  happened  ?  You  must  tell  us,  Henry! " 

Family    shame    might    keep    Henry's 

mouth  closed,  but  Margery  felt  no  such 

restraint.     She  wanted  Gladys  to  know! 

She    wanted    everybody    to    know!     So 

[52] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

while  Henry  was  freeing  one  hand  of  tin 
can  and  seine,  preparatory  to  opening 
the  door,  she  twisted  around  until  she. 
could  shout  out  the  news  to  the  listening 
world. 

"  I  went  in  swimmin' ! "  she  cried, 
shaking  her  muddied  locks  at  Gladys. 
"That's  what!"  She  had  to  hurry,  for 
Henry  was  already  pulling  at  the  screen 
door.  "With  boys,  too!  With  boys!" 

Henry  jerked  her  roughly  into  the 
house,  but  not  before  she  had  heard  the 
beginning  of  Gladys's  unctuous  com 
ment:  "Oh,  how  disgraceful!  Ain't 
Margery  just  too  awful!"  She  also  had 
time  to  realize  vaguely  that,  disgraceful 
though  it  was,  Gladys  seemed  in  no  haste 
to  turn  on  the  twins  that  cold  glance 
of  scorn  which,  by  all  reckoning,  should 
instantly  have  been  forthcoming.  Why 
did  she  stay  on  talking  to  them  ?  A  cold 
doubt  began  to  creep  into  Margery's 
mind.  Had  she,  after  all,  disgraced  only 
[53] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

herself?  The  doubt  slowly  grew  to  a 
certainty,  until,  by  the  time  she  found 
herself  dragged  into  the  library,  she  felt 
as  miserable  and  forlorn  as  she  looked. 

Without  a  word  Henry  placed  her 
before  her  mother.  Her  mother  raised 
languid  eyes  from  a  novel;  then,  like 
Gladys,  showed  livelier  interest. 

"Margery!  What  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"Swimmin'."  Henry  answered  for 
her,  in  the  first  syllables  he  had  uttered 
since  leaving  the  pond. 

"Swimming!"  repeated  her  mother 
faintly. 

"  With  boys,"  added  Henry  gloomily. 

"  With  boys!  "  echoed  her  mother,  look 
ing  helpless  and  alarmed.  The  occasion 
was  evidently  one  which  demanded  a 
well-chosen  reproof.  She  paused  a  mo 
ment,  then  said  impressively:  "Why,  I 
never  heard  of  a  little  girl  doing  such 
a  thing!" 

[54] 


At  that  all  Margery's  waning  spirit 
flared  up.  It  was  what  they  always 
said!  Whatever  she  did  was  bad,  not 
because  it  was  bad,  but  because  she  was 
a  girl! 

"'Tain't  my  fault  I'm  a  girl!"  she 
cried,  stamping  her  foot  and  glaring  out 
from  under  her  muddy  hair,  more  than 
ever  like  a  little  creature  of  the  woods. 
"I  don't  want  to  be  a  girl!  I  want  to  be 
a  boy,  and  you  know  I  do! " 

"That  will  do,  Margery,"  said  her 
mother  coldly.  "You  may  go  to  bed 
now,  and  when  your  father  comes  home, 
I  shall  tell  him  how  you've  been  behaving 
and  he  can  punish  you.  Henry,  call 
Effie." 

To  EfEe  was  intrusted  the  task  of 
giving  Margery  a  bath  and  putting  her 
to  bed. 

"She's  been  a  bad  girl  this  afternoon, 
Effie,  and  if  she's  rude  to  you,  you  may 
spank    her."     And    Margery's    mother, 
[55] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

thus  shifting  her  maternal  responsibility, 
first  to  a  servant,  then  to  her  husband, 
returned  to  her  novel  with  a  troubled 
sigh. 

When  one  is  small  and  in  the  grip  of 
adverse  circumstances,  there  is,  perhaps, 
no  process  of  life  which  can  be  made 
more  humiliating  than  a  bath.  In  this 
instance,  suffice  to  say  that  Effie  was 
lavish  in  the  use  of  soap  and  water, 
especially  soap,  and,  by  the  time  she 
finished,  had  reduced  her  charge  to  a 
state  of  quiescent  misery. 


[56] 


MARGERY'S  room  was  the  small 
front  corner  room  adjoining  her 
mother's.  The  window  was 
open,  and,  as  she  lay  in  bed,  feverish 
and  unhappy,  the  murmur  of  conversa 
tion  from  the  porch  below  reached  her 
distinctly.  She  paid  little  attention  until, 
hearing  Gladys  Bailey's  voice,  it  suddenly 
came  over  her  that  that  young  woman 
had  not  yet  gone  home.  Then  Mar 
gery  sat  up  and  listened. 

"I  just  feel  so  sorry  for  your  poor 
father,"  Gladys's  voice  was  saying. 
" He'll  feel  so  disgraced! "  After  a  slight 
pause  she  asked:  "Don't  you  think  he'll 
be  home  soon  ?  " 

So  that  was  it!  Gladys  lingered  on  in 
hopes  of  witnessing  the  last  scene  of 
Margery's  humiliation.  Oh,  what  a  de 
ceitful  creature  Gladys  was,  pretending 
that  the  whole  family  was  so  disgraced, 
yet  remaining  still  as  intimate  with  them 
[57] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

as  ever!  How  horrid  they  all  were— 
everybody  except,  perhaps — perhaps  her 
father!  In  the  past  he  was  the  only  one 
who  had  ever  shown  himself  superior  to 
public  opinion  and  circumstantial  evi 
dence.  Would  he  be  the  same  this 
time?  If  he,  too,  were  going  to  be 
shocked  and  surprised,  Margery  felt  that 
there  was  nothing  left  for  her  but  to 
go  off  somewhere  alone  and  die. 

"How  many  boys  did  you  say  they 
was,  Henry?" 

Henry  evidently  had  not  said,  for  he 
did  not  answer  now.  Nothing  daunted, 
Gladys  went  on. 

"  I  suppose  they  was  at  least  ten.  Yes, 
I'm  sure  they  must  ha'  been  ten." 

"No,  they  wasn't,"  Henry  blurted  out. 
'They  was  only  five." 

Margery  tossed  about  on  her  little 
bed  in  helpless  rage  and  scorn.  Why, 
the  creature  was  a  regular  Delilah! 

"Who  was  they,  Henry?" 
I  58  ] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

Again  Henry  kept  silence.  But  this 
time  Gladys's  question  was  answered  in 
another  way.  From  up  the  street  came 
the  various  noises  that  announce  the 
approach  of  a  crowd  of  boys. 

"Here  they  come  now,"  Gladys  ex 
claimed  in  candid  satisfaction. 

Yes,  without  doubt  they  were  com 
ing.  When  they  saw  Henry  they  began 
immediately  a  taunting  sing-song: 

"  Oh,  Henry,  can't  guess  who  I  seen  in 
swimmin'!  Can't  guess  who  I  seen  in 
swimmin' ! " 

Henry  dashed  off  the  porch  and  the 
chorus  scattered  in  various  directions. 
One  saucy  voice  sang  as  it  ran: 

Motheh,  may  I  go  out  to  thwim? 

Yeth,  my  darlin'  daughter; 
Hang  your  cloth'     .     .     . 

Yes,  that  was  the  whole  thing  in  a 
nutshell,  Margery  thought.  It  was 
exactly  how  they  always  talked  to 
girls. 

[59] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

Hang  your  dothes  on  a  hickory  limb, 
And  DON'T  go  near  the  water! 

Wasn't  it  what  her  mother  said  to  her  a 
dozen  times  a  day?  Now  be  a  good 
little  girl  and  have  a  good  time.  How 
could  you  be  a  good  little  girl  and  have 
a  good  time  at  the  same  time?  The 
irony  of  it,  when  anybody  with  a  grain  of 
sense  would  know  that  the  two  do  not 
go  hand  in  hand!  If  she  had  stayed 
home  that  afternoon,  she  would  have 
been  good,  but  she  would  not  have  had 
a  good  time.  As  it  was,  she  had  had  a 
good  time,  but  she  had  not  been  good. 
So  there  you  are! 

The  gate  clicked,  but  it  was  not  Henry, 
for  Gladys  offered  the  conciliatory  greet 
ing,  "Hello,  Willie."  So  it  must  be 
Willie  Jones  coming  through  their  yard 
to  get  to  his  own.  Margery  wondered 
whether  Gladys  would  be  able  to  work 
him  as  she  had  worked  Henry.  Mar 
gery  thought  not,  but  if  she  were — well, 
[60] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

she,    Margery    Blair,    would    have   very 
little  more  to  say  to  Willie  Jones. 

When,  Margery  judged,  Willie  Jones 
was  passing  the  porch,  Gladys  asked  in 
her  suavest  tones,  "Oh,  Willie,  did  you 
see  Margery,  too  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Willie  did  not  answer, 
and  Margery,  kneeling  on  the  floor 
behind  the  window  curtain,  held  her 
breath.  Then,  apparently  without  slow 
ing  his  pace,  Willie  Jones  grunted  out 
in  his  roughest  manner: 

"Aw,  go  on!  You  don't  know  what 
you're  talkin'  about!" 

"Willie  Jones  is  just  the  rudest  boy," 
Gladys  informed  the  twins.  "I  wouldn't 
think  your  mother  would  let  Margery 
play  with  him." 

But,  up-stairs,  Margery  wept  for  joy 
at  this  evidence  of  a  true  and  noble  heart. 

Henry  returned  from  the  chase  with  the 
interesting    news    that    he    had    almost 
caught  Freddy  Larkin. 
[61] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

"Well,  I  just  pity  your  poor  father," 
Gladys  commented,  "if  he  goes  down 
on  the  car  to-morrow  with  Freddy  Lar- 
kin's  father." 

"Why,  Gladys?"  chorused  the  twins 
anxiously. 

"Because  he'll  laugh  at  your  father 
and  make  fun  of  him  for  having  a  girl 
that  went  in  swimming  with  boys.  Just 
you  see!  And  your  father'll  feel  so 
disgraced! " 

Would  he  really  ?  Margery  wondered 
forlornly.  Of  all  her  family,  her  father 
was  the  one,  the  only  one,  she  wyould 
have  spared;  and  now,  if  Gladys  were 
to  be  trusted,  he  it  was  who  would  suffer 
most.  With  a  pang,  she  suddenly  remem 
bered  how  many  times  in  the  past  she 
had  been  sent  to  bed,  as  to-day,  to  await 
his  coming,  and  how  kind  and  just  he 
had  always  been,  never  pronouncing  pun 
ishment  until  he  had  sifted  and  weighed 
the  evidence  against  her.  And,  remem- 
[62] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

bering  this,  her  rebellious  little  heart  soft 
ened  and  a  sense  of  regret  came  over  her— 
the  first  she  had  felt  that  afternoon.  Why, 
why  had  she  not  remembered  him  sooner  ? 
How  could  she  ever  have  forgotten  him  ? 


In  the  midst  of  this  incipient  remorse, 
Gladys  announced  his  arrival. 

He  came  in  with  a  cheerful,  "Hello, 
kidlets!"  and  almost  immediately  asked, 
"Where's  Margery?" 

"Margery's  in  bed,"  Henry  said  signifi 
cantly. 

Margery  heard  her  father  pull  over  a 
porch  chair  and  seat  himself. 

"  She's  been  bad,"  Katherine  said. 

Still  her  father  made  no  comment. 

It  was  Alice's  turn  to  speak,  and  there 
was  nothing  left  to  tell  but  the  deed  itself. 

"She  went  in  swimmin',"  Alice  whis 
pered. 

[63] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

And  then,  of  all  things,  as  Gladys 
Bailey  would  say,  what  did  her  father  do 
but  laugh!  He  laughed  loud  and  long; 
but  the  others,  evidently  surprised,  did 
not  join  him. 

It  was  Gladys  who  spoke  first. 

"You  forgot  to  tell  your  father  that 
she  went  in  swimmin'  with  boys." 

"With  boys!"  her  father  echoed,  and 
laughed  harder  than  before. 

Up-stairs,  her  head  pressed  against  the 
window-sill,  Margery  could  scarcely  be 
lieve  her  ears.  Did  he  really  think  it 
was  funny?  And  then  she  had  it.  Her 
father  was  pretending!  But  that,  after 
all,  was  only  half  a  clew.  Why  was  he 
pretending  ?  Why  ? 

He  stopped  laughing  after  a  time  and 
began  putting  questions  to  each  of  them 
in  turn,  until  he  had  pieced  together  the 
whole  story. 

"Katherine,"  he  asked  finally,  "why 
did  you  and  Alice  not  take  her  with  you 
[64] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

when   you   went   calling?     If   you   had, 
this  would  not  have  happened." 

"Well,  you  see,  papa,"  began  Kather- 
ine,  "she's  too  little  for  our  crowd." 

"Too  little?  What  nonsense!  She's 
not  a  bit  too  little." 

"Well,  Gladys  says  she  is,"  Katherine 
insisted. 

Gladys  corrected  this  statement  kindly 
but  firmly:  "What  I  said  was,  that,  for 
first  calls,  four  was  perhaps  too  big  a 
crowd." 

"Oh,  I  see.  That  is  very  different. 
No  doubt  Gladys  is  entirely  right.  But 
you've  made  your  first  calls  now, 
haven't  you? — and  hereafter  Margery 
can  go  with  you  just  as  well  as  not, 
can't  she,  Gladys?  Why,  you  know, 
really,  in  crowds,  the  more  the  merrier. 
Besides" — and  Margery  knew  just  as 
though  she  were  there  the  kind  of  look 
her  father  was  giving  Gladys — "as  a 
favor  to  me!" 

5  [65] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

Gladys  was  completely  taken  in. 

"I'll  be  glad  to  do  anything  I  can  for 
you,  Mr.  Blair,"  she  said  politely.  Then 
she  added  gratuitously:  "Everybody 
ought  to  be  kind  to  each  other." 

"That's  it,  exactly.  As  Gladys  says, 
the  big  boys  and  girls  should-  always  be 
kind  and  gentle  to  the  smaller  ones. 
Now  Henry  was  right,  when  he  found  his 
little  sister  doing  something  wrong,  to 
bring  her  home.  But  next  time  he's 
going  to  be  more  gentle  about  it,  aren't 
you,  Henry  ?  " 

Yes,  Henry  was,  and  Margery  hugged 
herself  in  wonder  and  amazement.  Why, 
her  father  was  simply  workin'  'em  for 
all  they  was  worth!  He  was  just  jollyin' 
'em  to  beat  the  band!  And  it  was  all 
for  her  sake,  too!  Under  the  magic  of 
his  words,  already  they  were  ceasing  to 
regard  her  as  an  outcast.  And  Margery, 
like  many  another  who  has  sought  to 
overturn  the  pillars  of  society,  was 
[66] 


THE   HICKORY   LIMB 

strangely  happy  at  the  thought  of  being 
able  once  again  to  mingle  with  her  own 
kind. 

"But,  papa,"  she  heard  Alice  ask, 
"what'll  you  say  to  Freddy  Larkin's 
father  on  the  car?" 

"What  will  I  say  to  Freddy  Larkin's 
father  on  the  car,  Alice  ?  " 

'Yes,  papa,  when  he — Gladys — she 
says  he'll  make  fun  of  you  on  account  of 
Margery." 

And  then  her  father  rose  to  the  occasion 
magnificently. 

"What  will  I  say,"  he  repeated  in  a 
loud,  full  voice, "  to  Freddy  Larkin's  father 
when  he  makes  fun  of  me  for  having  a 
little  girl  who  went  in  swimming  with  the 
boys  ? " 

He  paused  impressively,  and  suddenly 
Margery  understood.  He  was  the  only 
one  of  them  all  who  knew  that  of  course 
she  was  listening!  And  he  had  known  it 
all  along  and  had  been  sending  messages, 
[67] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

no,  not  of  excuse  for  her  naughtiness— 
they  would  have  that  out  together,  later 
—but    of   love    and    encouragement   for 
herself.     Oh,  how  she  would  try  never 
to  grieve  him  again! 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  say,"  his  adorable 
voice  continued.  "I'll  say,  -'Well,  I  just 
bet  you  a  great  big  round  dollar  that 
Freddy  will  never  see  Margery  do  such  a 
thing  again !  '  Why,  do  you  know,  Gladys, 
I'd  be  willing  to  risk  five  dollars! " 


Then  he  came  into  the  house  and  her 
mother  kept  him  a  moment  in  the  library. 
She  could  not  hear  what  her  mother 
said,  but  her  father's  answer,  "  Of  course 
I  shall  be  severe,  if  necessary,"  put  a 
sudden  chill  on  her  heart. 

Then  she  heard  his  foot  on  the  stairs; 
and  she  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow, 
pretending  to  be  asleep. 
[68] 


THE   HICKORY  LIMB 

Her  father  stood  over  her  a  moment, 
looking  down  at  her  quietly.  She  could 
feel  him  looking.  Then  he  said,  "Mar 
gery,"  softly,  gently.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  never  heard  her  name 
pronounced  so  sweetly,  so  lovingly. 
Whatever  little  ice  of  rebellion  had 
formed  anew  around  her  heart  melted 
that  instant,  and,  like  a  whirlwind,  she 
threw  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck 
and  crushed  her  chill  little  nose  and  her 
burning  face  against  his  cheek.  There 
she  sobbed  out  her  love  and  repentance. 

"And  papa — papa,"  she  gasped  as 
soon  as  she  could  speak,  "you  can  bet 
him  ten  dollars  if  you  want  to,  and  you 
won't  lose!  I  promise  you,  papa,  you 
won't  lose!  You  won't!  " 

Her  mother  supposed  that,  as  usual, 

Margery  had  cajoled  her  father  into  an 

easy  mood,  for,  when  she  saw  them  an 

hour  later,  Margery  was  seated  on  her 

[69] 


THE  HICKORY  LIMB 

father's  knee,  quiet  and  happy.     In  all 
apparent  innocence  she  was  saying: 

"And  oh,  papa!  Ugh!  It  just 
squashes  up  between  your  toes  like 
worms  !  " 


[70] 


i liner e  - 


"ickory  limb 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  928  1 92     4 


PS 
3511 


The  Library  of 
DAVID   FREEDMAN 


BOOK  NO.. 


Uni 


